


About forgiveness and Gods

by Nika_AG



Category: The Authority
Genre: Autorithy Era, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:34:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26590723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nika_AG/pseuds/Nika_AG
Summary: Midnighter can only consider Apollo as God.
Relationships: Apollo/Midnighter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	About forgiveness and Gods

**Author's Note:**

> So. I wake up today wanting Apollo and Mid. And decided to translate some old shit of me. Originally posted in spanish in fanfiction.net (still there).
> 
> Nothing else. Placed during The Autorithy era.

They function differently from the rest of the world. This is what happens when you have been modified, changed until all your senses are different from those of the ordinary human. There is no way they are the same as the rest and they know it and it is an advantage, sometimes. Sometimes, all those parts of them that are machines, cells and organisms made to kill come to light and change the soft kisses that they may be sharing in a competition to see who can bite the hardest, who can make the other one give up.

It is normal, among them. It's logical, even.

People often look at Apollo and see something different. They see a guy with a halo and a nice smile who rarely gets angry in interviews and who answers all the questions nicely. They think he's kind, calm, and sweet, that he's the one who carries the romantic part of the relationship. They’re right and are wrong at the same time. Apollo is not just that. Apollo is the person who smiles when he has to incinerate someone slowly to torture them, who grunts when he fights and provokes him with his way of moving. Battles here and there; in some they get too close to death and sometimes they just want to lie down together, watch Jenny as she sleeps and drink beer with their mates, to forget how close they've come to crossing the line.

Other times, it's different. Other times, Apollo pulls him into the room, both of them cutting off the mental connection that communicates them to the group, and face each other alone. They exchange kisses and bites as they finish pulling off their uniforms with yanks that tear the fabric and hurt the wounds they already carry.

This time, specifically, it has been Midnighter who did not wait for orders and got involved in a mess of mutant humanoid beings that multiplied and did not seem to be able to die. Almost trapped, almost dead. Apollo is furious and he does not need me to say anything to know, he does not want me to say anything. Apollo kisses him without removing his mask and in the beginning it's uncomfortable, too violent, teeth colliding until Midnighter yields, opens his lips, and is better. It’s Apollo's tongue in his mouth, his fingers on the back of his neck. He has two hearts, and both of them quicken up when his lover breaks away and tears off his mask with such violence that he hurts one cheek, a wound too superficial to notice, another wound more. Sometimes Midnighter wonders if he will feel the same with another person. If that warm feeling under his skin would be the same with another person, with a  _ person _ . He tried it once, to test it. He went to a bar; back in the days when they lived in the alleys of New York, in a pair of jeans and a white shirt, and looked at other men. They were all so easy to beat that his computer was hardly tempted to analyze them. He couldn't help it, it was a characteristic of his to think of a hypothetical battle, to think of everyone as a target. That's what he was. But he tried to look at the men in the bar. Lower or higher than him, attractive. He noticed a dark man who seemed to live in the gym and who bought him a drink and nothing. Midnighter knew he couldn't hurt him and the thought of kissing him knowing it didn't give him a shred of enthusiasm. It was different with Apollo, of course. He looked at Apollo’s tense jaw when he found him at the bar and knew that the force of one of his blows could break a couple of his bones and that made him tremble with anticipation. His computer was screaming  _ danger _ and his blood was boiling and he felt hard between his legs.

He did not feel pain to the same extent as humans, perhaps he could not feel pleasure in any other way than Apollo's hand running across his chest, purposely warming it to cause a slight spasm of pain without harming him. Perhaps he is only excited by it because he knows that Apollo is stronger, that the hands holding his head to kiss him could crush him. Or maybe it's just that Apollo is unique and knowing that he's his is what makes him want to rub up against him like a schoolgirl whore and start getting really desperate when five minutes go by and they've done nothing but kiss.

When he wants to hurry, Apollo stops him, a hand on his shoulder and turns him over, leaves him facing the wall, his right hand holding his arm behind his back. He is excited to have him like this, behind him, his breath on his neck, his body above him. He turns his head and gets a kiss, Apollo's tongue slipping in his mouth, running along his cheek, his voice whispering  _ opens your legs _ . Apollo is that. That dichotomy between the strength he imprints on his arm to prevent him from moving and the softness with which he masturbates him. The soft kisses on his cheek and neck, followed by bites at his lips. Midnighter grunts  _ you are a bastard _ and Apollo responds by sinking his face into his neck, muttering  _ you like it _ , pushing his erection into him, slow and hotter than anything else in the world. Midnighter doesn't want it that way, too soft, too far from his nature. Too good not to complain, to do nothing but squirm and lean his forehead against the wall, feeling him moving in and out, not giving him enough. They talk almost at the same time  _ I'm not going to break; I want you to melt. _ Melting can't be hard when the God of the Sun burns your skin and condemns you by thrusting in short and soft, kissing him every time Midnighter wants to insult him, turning claims into gasps. His brain could melt, if Apollo keeps masturbating him like that, too slow to allow him to come, feeling the orgasm at a millimeter and unable to reach it. His last protest is interrupted by Apollo's fingers inside his mouth, which at least leaves his arm free to lean against the wall. His two hearts beat frantically and he knows why Apollo treats him like that, biting his neck, caressing him with hands that; contrary to what the world believes, are not soft. Apollo is annoyed, angry for his recklessness, and wants to make sure that he has him and that they’re both alive. He knows it because when Apollo is in danger, he reacts almost in the same way. Trying to keep him in bed as long as possible, trying to get the false promise that he won't risk his life again. As if they can't take risks in the job they have.

Apollo leaves his mouth free, strokes his chest with fingers wet with his own saliva, and holds him by the waist. When he hides his face in the curve of his neck, his hair tickles and the sensation makes his fingers hurt with the desire to touch him, to do more than hold on to the wall and receive his thrusts, his kisses in whatever doses Apollo wants to give them. When Midnighter tries to touch him, Apollo grabs his wrists and squeezes them against the wall. He grunts  _ behave _ and then  _ touch yourself. _ Midnighter doesn’t consider disobeying. Even less, when Apollo rests his chin on his shoulder and watches him do it, his eyes fixed on the movement of his hands over his erection. Apollo’s skin heats up a couple of degrees, announcing his excitement and he moves along with Midnighter's hands, pulling out gasps and broken, incoherent curses from his lover. Not that Apollo is any better. He mumbles, not being able to control himself or articulate full sentences. Midnighter hears  _ I love you  _ and his body contracts. There was a time when a couple of words couldn't make him cum, before Apollo, his kisses, and his love. In those moments, as he cums and feels Apollo's still hard dick inside, he would like to have a real name to call him. Instead, he repeats  _ god, god, god _ until Apollo finishes and he feels the hot semen slipping down his legs.

It's just an expression, to say God, something mechanical. They killed him. And the only God that Midnighter knows and would pray to is behind him, getting hard again  _ blessed genetic manipulation _ , turning him over and allowing him to touch him, to caress his tanned pecs, tangle his fingers in the silver hair, lick blood and sweat from his skin. He has a merciful God, who laughs on his lips when he whispers  _ I could pray to you _ and answers  _ adore me, _ caressing his throat with his thumbs, kissing him, and entering his body in one thrust. Worship him. How easy.


End file.
